


That Old Mathematics Called Love

by stinkybubbles (WendyNever), WendyNever



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-19
Updated: 2011-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNever/pseuds/stinkybubbles, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNever/pseuds/WendyNever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron has always been Harry's guide to the differences between the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, but he missed one crucial point. The boys are teaching at Hogwarts when Harry finds the difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Finding the Difference

**Author's Note:**

> This is my protest of 'Marriage Protection Week'. See the challenge thread at FictionAlley. [http://www.fictionalley.org/fictionalleypark/forums/showthread.php?s=&threadid=46111](http://www.fictionalley.org/fictionalleypark/forums/showthread.php?s=&threadid=46111) Go to the Archive of Art and Fiction that came of it. http://www.cosmicuniverse.net/whenlovespeaks/index.html

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron has always been Harry's guide to the differences between the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, but he missed one crucial point. The boys are teaching at Hogwarts when Harry finds the difference.

It had been coming for days or weeks or months, maybe years? Yes, since platform nine and three-quarters, when we met. Looking back, I can see it was always there between Harry and me. I just didn't see it, or know how the change would come or when.

  


You must understand that, the intensity of my relationships with my siblings is such that, no matter how far or long we are separated, we are still thick as thieves after ten minutes back together. Even Bill and Charlie, who I spent years seeing only every once in a great while, are like that with me. So, finding that and more in Harry was not startling to me. I didn't know how different we were. I didn't know that other people just didn't have friendships like that.

  


Then puberty hit and I realized that I was attracted to more than his personality. I looked at him across a crowded breakfast table (he was all rumpled and sleepy from being up late, working with Professor Lupin on his Patronus) and he looked like . . . forever. The amazing thing is that that didn't startle me either. Knowing that I loved him as more than a friend, was not so much a revelation, as a coming aware of something I already knew.

  


So, here we are, six years after that morning in the Great Hall, sharing rooms again, here at Hogwarts, where we both work. Harry is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor and I have taken Madam Hooch's old duties teaching Flying and Quidditch. Still, we've never had that moment, the transition from friends to lovers, the moment that makes all the difference. I had held back during the War, knowing that Harry needed things as uncomplicated as possible. He knew I would always be at his side, no matter what. The rest of it could wait.

  


Now, Voldemort has been gone nearly half a year and most of the Death Eaters either died in the War or have been arrested. Our lives have settled into a quiet rhythm. Yet, I still feel Harry holding back. I've been a bit itchy for some time now, but every time I think he might be ready for me to kiss him, he jumps back from me in both body and spirit. So, I wait. I know if I wait long enough, it will happen. It must, else all we've overcome in the last few years will have been for nothing. What else could we have been fighting for but the chance to be happy?

  


It is mid-afternoon on a Saturday in mid-December. I've just settled myself mid-couch with the Quibbler and some Pumpkin Pasties for a cuppa. I hear Harry at the door, finally back from his lunch with Remus. They meet several times a month, just to keep in touch. Remus is the closest thing to family Harry has left, besides me and mine, of course. Sometimes I join them, but today I had a bit of Christmas shopping to do, so I went to Hogsmeade instead.

  


Harry comes in, I glance up, smile and return to my reading. He takes off his cloak and robes, leaving him in just his trousers and a concert T-shirt with Celestina Warbeck singing on it. It is well worn with a few spots nearly threadbare. All the cleaning charms that have been used on it have somehow disrupted the singing charm and now Celestina only sings the odd syllable every now and again.

  


Harry retrieves a teacup from the kitchen and sits down next to me, and then helps himself to tea and two of my pasties. We sit in comfortable silence. When the tea is gone, he leans back and slides in very close to me, nudging me with his shoulder. I take it as affection and give him a half-smile before starting to read about the Ministry conspiracy to hide magical experimentation on squibs from the Wizarding public. Harry nudges me again, giving me an invitingly knowing look that makes me quite itchy. I smile and nod, but return to my ridiculous news article. I'm not sure what he's playing at, but I'm not betting on it being what I want it to be, so I'm going to wait until he gives me a larger hint.

  


Another nudge and I just fold the Quibbler in my lap and pull a face at him that plainly says, 'What are you going on about, Harry?' He smiles rather larger than my annoyed face should have inspired and slips his fingers round my wrist, pulling my arm up and over his shoulders. He snuggles in, reaching across our bodies and stroking his hand down my cheek, across my jaw, down my neck and over my chest to settle lightly, just above my navel. I watch his hand move in small enticing circles over my belly. When I look up, he is gracing me with a gaze that is love and sex and promise all in one lazy, glowing smile. I exhale hard 'cause he's really ready this time. Oh, do I itch! I lean towards him and let my eyelids flutter shut. I know my target by feel alone. Sweet, pumpkin-tea breath warms my lips before he says, "I'm still surprised at some of the differences between the Wizarding and Muggle Worlds."

  


I open one astonished eye. "What?" He hasn't moved away from me, just angled his head back to look me in the eyes.

  


"You've always been my guide on that front, haven't you? Anything I didn't know or understand because of my Muggle upbringing- you had the answers."

  


"Er . . . yes." I can't figure where he's going and his hand has strayed to my left nipple, rubbing it roughly through the fabric of my shirt, which is not allowing me proper brain function.

  


"Makes my wonder why I had to find out from Lupin." He leans further back, still close, but not snuggled, not fondling anymore.

  


"Find out what, Harry?" I'll do anything to get his hand back on me, get that mouth near mine again.

  


"Well, as we usually do, Remus and I ended up talking about Sirius. He told me today that one of his biggest regrets was that he didn't marry Sirius when they were young, before he went to Azkaban. They had talked about it, but decided to wait until after Sirius had finished his Auror training. He never did get to finish."

  


"Harry, I didn't know. How could I have told you when I wasn't born yet either?" I don't see his logic.

  


"Not that." He smiles. "Muggles don't let two men get married. There are even places where certain er . . . acts are illegal."

  


"Acts?" What is he talking about? Oh!

 _Acts_

. Blimey, how could that be? "Truly?"

  


"Yes. So, why did you never tell me? Or show me?" His voice is suddenly thick and deep.

  


"I . . . er, Harry, I just thought you needed time. Er . . . things to be simple. The last thing I wanted to do was distract you when you were facing V-voldemort," I stammer.

  


"You think us being together would have made me weaker?" He strokes his fingers along my cheek again. "Ron, your friendship was the only thing that gave me the strength to do what I had to to finally end the War. How could your love have made me anything but stronger?"

  


"Harry, I . . ."

  


"No, don't. Let's not waste anymore time." Then he kisses me long and sure and hard. Soon I'm pinned back against the arm of the couch, while he learns my mouth with all the intensity he usually focuses on seeking a snitch or defeating a dark wizard. He pulls away from me and, with gleaming eyes and passion-bruised lips, he whispers, "Let's do it. Let's not wait."

  


"Bloody hell, yeah!" I push him up and off me, following him quickly and rejoining our mouths, as I start walking him backwards towards his bedroom.

  


"Wait, Ron. I didn't mean that." I stop dead. He's killing me here. Talk about keeping a bloke hanging on.

  


"But, you said . . ." I whinge, yes whinge, I'm not proud.

  


"Yes I . . . Yes! Ron, we will do that. I just meant that what I want to do is get married."

  


"What now? Couldn't we have sex first?" All my thinking is happening in my trousers. Luckily, Harry is a man too. He just laughs.

  


"Yes, we can have sex first. I mean, let's not let anything delay the wedding. Life gets short without giving you notice, you know." He's a bit somber by the end of that sentence, somber but determined.

  


Something clicks into place in my mind, just like that morning over toast and marmalade, when I knew he was forever, and I say what he needs to hear, what we both need to hear, "We'll do it Christmas Eve at the Burrow. I'm fairly sure we could get the new Minister of Magic to officiate. He'll be there anyway, Mum would never let him work on holiday, leader of Wizarding England or not."

  


Harry's eyes light up as he says, "Yes, that's perfect." He looks down, a bit puzzled, looks back up at me with mischief in his eyes and says, "Want to have that sex now?" I grin and reclaim his mouth.


	2. Finding the Difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Christmas Eve wedding at the Burrow and Ron is all nerves. Nothing is going as planned and then some unexpected guests arrive. Luckily, Harry helps Ron see that the day is more than the sum of its parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sequel to my fic [Finding the Difference](http://www.astronomytower.org/authorLinks/Stinkybubbles) [http://www.fictionalley.org/ficalley/reviews/showthread.php?s=&threadid=23995](http://www.fictionalley.org/ficalley/reviews/showthread.php?s=&threadid=23995) in protest of 'Marriage Protection Week'. See the challenge thread at FictionAlley. http://www.fictionalley.org/fictionalleypark/forums/showthread.php?s=&threadid=46111Go to the Archive of Art and Fiction that came of it. http://www.cosmicuniverse.net/whenlovespeaks/index.html

Urgh . . . if I could find him and could lift my wand, hell, if I could open my eyes, I'd cast the cruciatus on Old Ogden for thinking up his Firewhiskey. Not only am I waking up hung over, but I'm waking up without Harry, since Mum insisted that we not sleep together last night, nor see each other until the ceremony tonight. 'It's bad luck," she had said. Honestly, it's not like we haven't been sharing a bedroom almost constantly since we were eleven years old. Of course, that has had quite a different meaning for the last fortnight.

 

Has it only been fourteen days since our first kiss and Harry's proposal? It seems a thousand times longer. The night we came to dinner, here at the Burrow, to tell Mum and Dad about our engagement was at least 800 years long. I knew it would be fine; they already love Harry like another son.

 

Harry, well Harry was another story. It seems that, to the Dursleys, the only thing worse than being gay is being a wizard, so Harry spent ten years of his life hearing how wrong it was, and then ten more dealing with the fact that he was both a wizard and gay. Well the wizard part turned out to be a good thing for him. Maybe that should have clued him in that his homosexuality would be all right here too. After all, anything the Dursleys were against can't be all bad. In spite of my assurances, Harry was seriously afraid of losing either me or Mum and Dad once we told them.

 

It was near impossible not to laugh at the look on his face when Mum's response to our grand announcement was, "Well, it's about time, tongues were beginning to wag. The two of you sharing rooms at the school . . . I'm surprised the new Headmaster hasn't had letters." I laugh again thinking about it and bleck! That was a mistake. The pain in my head doesn't have my same sense of humor.

 

I open my eyes and am pleasantly surprised to see Harry sitting by the side of my bed, smiling at me. "Hi," he whispers.

 

"Er, hi."

 

"I'm not here." He winks before slipping under the blankets with me and kissing me 'good morning' very thoroughly. Several long, luscious and lascivious moments later, he slips away, saying, "I really ought to go. See you later, mate." He disapparates and I am both content and highly disappointed.

 

When I get down to the kitchen for breakfast, I find it in a shambles. Mum is having an argument with the caterer over the hors d'oeuvres and Fred and George are playing piggy in the middle with Ginny's bra, causing her to do a great deal of threatening to hex them. Her threats aren't working, as the twins know Mum would have Ginny's head if she did anything destructive to them today. After a minute, they notice me standing in the doorway and Ginny's underclothing loses its attraction, ending up landing in the delicately iced wedding cake sitting on the countertop. I can't possibly describe the shocked and horrified look on Chef Frufru Pants' face at that turn of events.

 

"Bugger," Fred quietly exclaims as the caterer makes a hasty and very loud exit. It's a good thing Mum isn't that familiar with French, because something tells me Chef Frufru Pants should have begged for a pardon of his. During his rant, he has packed up his cooking implements and disapparated with a loud BANG! The silence that follows is only broken by the nervous twitters of Ginny's inappropriate laughter.

 

Every bit of contentment that Harry's surprise snog had bestowed on me has vanished along with the caterer. Mum is standing in the center of the kitchen, eyes closed, counting to keep her temper (I guess for my benefit). "Ginny dear, go see to the cake. George, floo to Diagon Alley and buy me everything on this list." A long scroll of parchment appears in her hand as she waves her wand. "And Fred," she's gritting her teeth, "go to the closet in the foyer and see that the new dress robes are in order." Out of shock, no one moves. "NOW!" Mum growls and the room empties immediately.

 

She guides me to the kitchen table. "Good morning Ron, darling. How did you sleep?"

 

"Er . . . fine, thanks Mum."

 

"Oh, you must be famished. Let me get you a proper breakfast." She starts bustling about, getting me the largest meal she has ever served me. My stomach is a bit dicky from the hang over as well as my nerves, but I eat as much as I can. Mum seems to need to pamper me and I'm just glad I wasn't on the receiving end of her wrath.

 

After breakfast, I need a walk to help digest or maybe to get sick somewhere where I won't insult Mum (I'm not quite sure which). As I walk through the front garden towards the road, I see Dad, charming the flowering hedgerows, which are dry and barren with the December weather, into bloom. He spots me and hurries over.

 

"Ron, there you are. How are you fairing?"

 

"All right, Dad."

 

"Odd, you look a bit green. Anything you need?"

 

"No, thanks." I walk on. Then I turn round and step up behind him to ask, "Dad . . ." He jumps at the sound of my voice, causing the forsythia he is charming to bloom, wither and die, all in the span of thirty seconds.

 

"Ronald, you scared the dickens out of me."

 

"Sorry, Dad."

 

"You decide you needed something after all?"

 

"Well, I . . . I just have a question."

 

"Yes," he prompts.

 

"How did you know it was the right time to marry Mum? And how were you sure it was the right thing to do? Oh and how did you manage not to vomit while promising every bit of yourself to another person in front of everyone you knew and loved?" it all comes spilling out of me.

 

"Just a wee bit of nerves, eh Ron?"

 

"You can't imagine."

 

"Oh, of course I can, every groom feels like that at some point. Don't worry, you'll do fine."

 

"How can you be sure?"

 

"Ron, my boy, do you love him?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Everything all right in the er . . . in the bedroom?"

 

"Dad! Yes, fine, smashing."

 

"Good, er . . . yes. Then, as long as you trust in each other, tell each other the truth and try to always act out of love, you should be fine."

 

"That's really all there is to it? It's that easy?"

 

"Cor blimey! Who said it was easy? It's hard work, but it is worth every bit of labor."

 

I spend the rest of the morning in the kitchen, helping Mum with the emergency menu. It is actually quite satisfying to know I had a hand in the real work for my wedding. It makes it more mine, I reckon. However, I do feel a little bit girly making food for Harry, like a little wife. Guess I should get used to that, I'm the closest thing to a little wife Harry's ever going to have. It's all right, Harry will have to have his share of acting the little wife too. I stop that line of thought before I wander off into a transvestite fantasy, while standing next to my unsuspecting mother.

 

After lunch, I head for the greatly expanded living room to help Bill and Charlie with the setting up of the chairs and the final touches on the decorations. I'm mentally kicking myself for suggesting that this be an evening wedding and giving myself all bloody day to agonize over the ceremony. I'm passing the foyer closet when the door opens and someone snatches me inside. Before I have a thought to defend myself, Harry's very familiar form is pressing me up against the closet's interior wall, the cloaks and jerseys cocooning around us.

 

He kisses me as if I'm made of air or chocolate or some other thing he can't live without and I return the favor. We haven't done this a lot, snogging without expectation of it going further. We've always had the advantage of being alone and only one room, at most, away from our bed, when we start anything. It's different knowing we'll have to stop, even more different having to try to remain quiet, lest someone walking through the foyer hear us and open the door to investigate.

 

As if my thoughts commanded it to, the door swings open revealing us and as it is rather obvious what we were just doing, Mum exclaims, "Ronald Weasley! I cannot believe you lured Harry here! It is bad luck for the two of you to see each other, but no! You boys and your hormones had to get a leg up anyway!"

 

"Mum!" I can't believe she just said 'get a leg up'.

 

"Out! Now. And you, Harry, Remus is in the floo looking for you. Worried sick, he is. And he was afraid you were having second thoughts." She drags us out of the closet. Luckily, the twins aren't around to make the obvious joke. "Go and tell him you're all right," she orders Harry. "Ron, did you see your new dress robes in there?"

 

"Er, no . . . I wasn't really looking for them." She rolls her eyes and plunges into the closet to check.

 

I go to the kitchen to find Harry and Mum is right behind me, bellowing for Fred to come explain himself. Fred arrives and Mum shoves an extremely large, bright pink set of robes in his face and asks, "What, pray tell, are these?"

 

"Dress robes for," he ventures.

 

"These are what you brought back from Malkin's for Ron? You expect your brother to get married in an overlarge fuchsia tent?"

 

"I'm sorry, Mum, I didn't look in the parcel. I just took what Madam Malkin said was the right order." I'm horrified. It's the Yule Ball all over again, only worse. I am so livid, I cannot even think what to say, so I just grunt as I walk passed Fred and out into the garden. I can feel Harry following me.

 

"All right, Ron?" Harry is the last person I should snap at today, but that doesn't matter to my mouth, which acts on its own.

 

"No! I'm not bloody all right! I'm still hung over, the pepper-up potion has done nothing to help that. The caterer quit, so Mum, who should just be enjoying this day, is cooking a feast for eighty people. Harry, how can we have eighty people invited to our 'intimate, family and close friends only' wedding? And, the twins put a bra in our wedding cake. Can you see old Arabella Figg choking on a bra clasp? And my robes! Harry did you see? I'd be better off getting married naked!"

 

"You really think I'd mind that?" Harry chuckles.

 

"Harry, I'm serious, everything is falling apart. Ours is going to be known as the-wedding-that-shall- not-be-named!" I complain.

 

"Ron."

 

"What?" I snap.

 

"Whose wedding is this again?"

 

"Harry . . ."

 

"Who's?"

 

"Ours," I admit.

 

"Say it with a bit of enthusiasm, Ron."

 

"It's our wedding," I smile.

 

"Too right it is! So what matters? The cake? Some bleeding set of dress robes? Your Mum's wedding superstitions? Or that you and I enjoy the most important day of our lives?"

 

"Okay, you're right, Harry. It's us, we matter, and the rest is just extras."

 

"Now, you've got it. Let it all go, Ron. As long as we end the day together and married, nothing else matters, so enjoy what you can and let Mum worry over the details." It seems a bit silly, but what he said is making a great difference in how I feel about it all.

 

In the end, everything fell into place within a reasonable proximity of on time and now, at 5:30 p.m. I'm coming down from my room in my new, well tailored, navy blue robes. I spot Ginny, who tells me Mum is finished in the kitchen and still has plenty of time to get herself ready. The cake is repaired and all the other details that cropped up over the course of the day have been seen to as well. Ginny has a rather sheepish grin on her face as she asks me to come greet her date.

 

"Now, remember, we were all on the same side by the end of things," she says, rather ominously. Then she leads me through the crowd of mingling guests to a seat where Draco Malfoy sits, looking aloof and nervous at the same time. Trying to remember what Harry said about letting the details go, I offer the ferret my hand.

 

"Happy Christmas, Malfoy, nice of you to come." He stifles a laugh.

 

"Nice, try Weasley. I almost thought you meant it. Don't worry, I'm not here to make trouble, though that would certainly be amusing. I only came because she begged me." He gestures at Ginny. "I find it hard to say no to a beautiful woman. You know what I mean? Oh wait, I guess you don't, do you?"

 

"You know, Malfoy, Harry tells me that homophobia is primarily a Muggle trait." Malfoy blanches, but is spared from having to respond by the arrival of Oliver Wood and his companion, my brother Percy. Mum must have spotted him from across the room, as she is rushing over to pull him to her in a great, crushing hug.

 

"Never thought I'd see the day he'd be back," Ginny mutters to me.

 

"Nearly as shocking as seeing a Malfoy at the Burrow," I counter. We walk over to follow Mum's example with the prodigal son. Percy is red and flustered. I reckon he expected things to be all curses and accusations and maybe it would have been if Mum had not gathered us together months ago and asked us to reach out to Percy. Her reasoning was that we had all lost enough people. We should not add to our own pain by not taking him back into our lives should the opportunity ever arise.

 

"Mum, Dad, I'm sorry." Dad had found his way over as well. "I made all the wrong choices and I was ashamed to admit those mistakes. If I'd done things differently . . ."

 

"Hush Percy," Mum interrupts. "We don't need to hear apologies; we just need to know that you're back with us for good, that you're part of us again." She is crying and holding him tightly again. Doesn't matter that Percy is an insufferable git, as long as he's our insufferable git. Speaking of gits, I look to Malfoy again, holding Ginny's hand. He feels me looking and turns my way, saying, "Don't expect tearful apologies out of me, I did the right thing when push came to shove. I even chose you lot over my own father, I've got nothing to be forgiven for. I'm just here in hopes of rogering your dishy little sister, Weasley." Ginny laughs. I bite my tongue.

 

Soon enough the clock is striking six and I find my place at the front of the room, my father standing near. Bill, Charlie, Percy and Mum walk in, while Mozart, the Muggle composer Dad loves so much, plays. Then Ginny, my groomsmaid and Luna Harry's groomsmaid come in and stand on either side of me. The twins, our groomsmen, come next and wedge themselves in next to the girls. The music changes, Harry and Remus process in, Harry looking like . . . forever and smiling as if he has a delicious secret.

 

The ceremony skips along. I know everything is said, but my nerves keep making me lose track. Suddenly Harry and I are holding hands as Dad wraps a cloth around them, binding us symbolically. Then he taps our hands with his wand and binds us magically and we are speaking our vows.

 

"Harry James Potter, my friend, my love, my forever, I, Ronald Alvin Weasley, promise myself to you and you alone, spirit, mind and body for the rest of my life."

 

"Ronald Alvin Weasley, my friend, my love, my forever, I, Harry James Potter, promise myself to you and you alone, spirit, mind and body for the rest of my life."

 

Now Dad takes the cloth off our hands and we exchange rings.

 

"Harry, take this ring, a circle unbroken, to symbolize the eternal and unbreakable love I have for you."

 

"Ronald, take this ring, a circle unbroken, to symbolize the eternal and unbreakable love I have for you."

 

"Now, by the authority of the Ministry of Magic, I pronounce you married! Welcome to the family Harry." There is a long pregnant pause. "Oh dear, kiss already!" Everyone laughs and Harry swoops in to claim my mouth, my spirit, my mind and my body. The twins' newest invention, rainbow, tickling confetti rains down on us in celebration.

 

Like the ceremony, the dinner after glides by, filled with warm greetings and congratulations from our guest. Soon Dad is standing up, raising him glass and clearing his throat for a toast. "Well Ron, Harry, I think . . . No, I'm certain that we would be quite remiss if we let this most important day pass without taking a moment to reflect and thank all those who made sacrifices to enable peaceful and joyous days like this one to return to our world. So, please raise your glasses in salute to those we most reluctantly left behind in our struggle, Cedric Diggory, Sirius Black, Cornelius Fudge, Neville Long Bottom, Mundungus Fletcher, our dear, dear Hermione Granger and Albus Dumbledore. May they rest in peace and may we never fail to appreciate the things they died to protect."

 

After everyone drinks and a few moments pass while we all talk about those we lost, Remus stands up for his own toast. "As most of you know, I am acquainted with loss, as are all of you. I've learned that the fairer aspects of life are, unfortunately, just as subject to ending as the darker ones are. Harry, Ron, You have lived much of your lives as warriors and just as you have endured and struggled against the dark, you now must embrace and cling to the light. Today, I see you doing just that, and it lifts me up. I implore you; do not let it end with today. Make every day a day to embrace and fight for your happiness. Certainly, joy comes to you, but there is more if it to be had if you seek it out. Seek it out and you'll find it in the least likely places. Dig for it like a niffler after gold. And once you've found it, guard it like a treasure, most valuable. For love and joy are just that, precious and priceless, no matter where they are found or what their sources." He raises his glass. "To Harry and Ron, may you have love everlasting."

 

I look over at Harry and he does that thing again, where he looks like forever. Actually, he always looks like forever, only I forget to notice it most of the time. I vow to myself to try to see that more often, to look for it and hold onto it, just as Lupin said. I think if we try hard enough, Harry and I will.


	3. A Little Addition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron and Harry have been married for ten months and things are about to change. Harry goes to his Uncle Vernon's funeral and returns with an inheritance of a sort. This fic is a sequel to Finding the Difference and More than the Sum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series is now officially named That Old Mathematics Called Love. I felt that, since this is a response to some very negative things in the real world, I would create a perfect world for my characters, so this is very fluffy. No angst, no conflict, just fluffy, fluffy happy connubial bliss. I suck at angst anyway.

I yawn and stretch, but let myself sink back into the cozy nest of our bed again. The warmth, which is wedged up against my back, squirms and slides an arm round my waist.

 

"Mmmm, you smell good," Harry murmurs into the back of my neck.

 

"You always think that, even when I'm fresh off the pitch," I return.

 

"You smell even better then." He licks the outer curve of my ear.

 

"Has anyone ever told you that you are a bit off?" I press back against him.

 

"My husband tells me all the time." He slides his hand up my body to address my left nipple.

 

"I love you, Harry." I make certain to say it every day, whether he need to hear it or not.

 

"Prove it," he demands as he slides his hand much lower, finding what he affectionately calls my 'morning glory' and grinding slowly against my arse.

 

A bit later, when we are sweat slicked and sticky, Harry pants out, "I love you too, Ron." I reckon I've provided enough proof- proven my, er, point. I smile at my own dirty joke.

 

Still later, Harry runs his hand down my chest, as lay facing each other, putting off leaving the bed. "Ron," he says, in a tone meant to tell me he is serious, "I got an owl last night after you'd fallen asleep." I sleep like the dead, or so I'm told. "My Aunt Petunia sent word that my Uncle Vernon's died."

 

"Oh," I say, unsure what else there is to say. I'm surprised that she even thought to tell Harry. Moreover, I'm very unsure as to how Harry might feel about Vernon Dursley's death.

 

"It was his heart. The service is today and I know I don't own him anything, it's not like he was ever the kind of uncle or father to me that he should have been, but I've decided to go. I reckon I just want to see for myself. You never know, without Uncle Vernon around, Aunt Petunia and Dudley could be a bit more bearable."

 

"Ron?" he asks.

 

"Sorry, I'm not sure what to say, except that I'll do whatever you want. We can go to the funeral, if that's what you need, Harry."

 

"Thank you," he smiles, "but, I'm thinking I ought to go alone. You know I love you and I'm proud to have you as my husband but, since I'm not going with the intent of causing a scene, I figured I'd leave my gay, wizard husband home." I hate how the Dursleys can make him into a scared, ashamed eleven year old again, just by existing.

 

We shower, dress and go to the Great Hall for breakfast together before he has to Floo to London. We haven't much time, as he has to exchange some Galleons for Muggle money and buy a Muggle suit before he finds his way to the service at mid-morning. We return to our rooms and I kiss him soundly before he steps into our fireplace. He's gone in a flash and I ponder the wisdom of letting him face this day alone. I miss him already.

 

***

 

I spend the day helping each of the four Quidditch captains with their strategies in turns. I try not to be too biased in helping the Gryffindors and not helping the Slytherins. It helps that the current Slytherin captain is the younger brother of Marcus Flint, who fought on our side in the War. The Flints are tough competitors, but they're no Death Eaters. Yeah, Auggie Flint is an asset to both Slytherin House and Hogwarts in general, just don't expect me to admit that to Old Severus.

 

After tea, I settle in our rooms, reading and waiting for Harry's return. I wonder what state he'll be in? I can't imagine any turn of events that could bring him home anything but depressed or angry. Just when it gets late enough for me to start considering Flooing to London to check that he is all right, the fireplace flashes and Harry's head appears in the flames.

 

"Ron, hi. I haven't much powder, so just listen, okay."

 

"Okay"

 

"I . . . er . . . there's a bit of a situation here. I need to stay a few days. Don't worry, I'm fine. I will send an owl tomorrow, I promise. I love you."

 

"Harry, what's so important, that you can't come home?" I ask, but by the time I finish, the grate is empty.

 

As the next day is Sunday, I choose to wallow. I haven't spent a night without Harry since we got married and I don't' like it in the least. By mid-day, I cannot justify staying abed any longer, so I go to lunch. I'm just starting my meal when Pig wings in, landing excitedly on my plate and leaving tiny claw marks on my plate as he steps through my gravy. I pull off the letter, absentmindedly offering Pig some of my food as I read.

 

Dear Ron,

 

Forgive me for not explaining things last night in the fire. Everything is fine. Dudley has offered me something unbelievable that I just couldn't refuse. It's not the type of thing for a letter though, so let me just say, if it works out, it could be the best thing to happen to us in quite a while (since December). Working through the details will take at least a week. Please make my excuses to McGonagall and take on my classes until I get back.

 

Thanks,

 

Harry

 

All right, now I know I should trust Harry, but what could his piggy cousin possibly offer him that could be that good? These people have never given him anything of worth. Instead of being reassured by Harry's letter, I'm even more worried. I decide to take Pig back to our rooms before writing back to Harry. It's not like he could stand to make the trip back today anyway.

 

Dear Harry,

 

I'm not sure what to make of your letter. I wish I were there with you, helping you to deal with whatever this situation is. My instinct is to NOT trust anything your Muggle relations say or do, but I'm not there to make a judgment. I hope you are okay and that you can come home soon. I'm trusting you to do this alone, but I don't like it.

 

I miss you,

 

Ron

 

I reread the letter and decide it is too gloomy and desperate. I crumple it up and start again.

 

Dear Harry,

 

I miss you. I can't wait until you come home. Good luck with whatever you are working on with Dudley. I hope it turns out as amazing as you hope. I look forward to hearing all about it on you return.

 

Love,

 

Ron

 

That's much better, or at least, erring on the side of optimism. I walk to the Owlery and post the letter with one of the school owls. Then I turn towards the Headmistress' office, trying to come up with a reasonable way to tell her Harry is taking some unplanned leave, but I don't know exactly why or when he'll be back.

 

Surprisingly, I don't hear from Harry until nearly a week has passed. Teaching both of our classes keeps me busy enough not to brood about my loneliness except at night. At night I lie alone in our bed, wondering what the devil Harry is doing and failing miserably in my attempts to get a good night's sleep. At mid-week, I stop in at The Three Broomsticks for a pint and run into Seamus Finnigan, who I haven't seen since the wedding. We pass a loud and colorful evening together, while he tells me about his recent cases at the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. He was a natural for the job, having spent half his time at school clearing up his own mistakes.

 

***

 

The week finally ends and I return to my rooms, after my afternoon classes on Friday, expecting to find a cold, dark, empty room waiting for me. Therefore, finding a crackling fire and Harry dozing on our couch is indeed welcome. I'm across the room and kissing Harry before I realize it is not just a fantasy born of loneliness and frustration. He is warm and familiar and responsive. His arms twine round my neck and I pull him to his feet so I can lead him to the bedroom, still exploring his mouth.

 

"Ron, I hmph . . ." I stop him. I have much better uses for that mouth than speech. I've got his shirt unbuttoned and am biting his neck as we reach the doorway.

 

"Ron, wait . . . we can't." He pulls away from me. "Look." He motions to our bed. The covers are mussed and lumpy. Odd, I thought I made the bed this morning. Then I spot what he is pointing to. In the very center of the bed, amid the swirl of blankets, sheets and pillows, lies a child, a small, blond cherub, softly sleeping.

 

"There's a baby in our bed," I mutter, puzzled.

 

"Actually Ron, that's our baby in our bed. Her name is Denise," Harry beams.

 

"Er . . . what?"

 

"She used to be Dudley's, but she keeps having these magical tantrums and since Dudley's wife ran off to Germany with, er . . . with some German, he can't manage her. So Dud pulls me aside at the funeral and says I can have her, if I want, since she's 'my kind' anyway."

 

"Harry, how could he . . ."

 

"I don't know, Ron. It's not like he's ever made sense to me. I just knew, I couldn't leave her to grow up in that family, being made to feel ashamed for how she was born. So, I adopted her. That's what took so long. Actually, Muggle adoptions usually take much longer; I greased the wheels a bit, if you catch my meaning." He made a rubbing gesture with his thumb and fingers to indicate money.

 

"Blimey Harry, we have a daughter."

 

"Yeah, we do."

 

"She's far too pretty to be a Dursley, she must favor her mother."

 

We spend long moments just looking at her. I hadn't expected anything like this. There are magical ways for two wizards to have a child, but they require changing things I wouldn't want either Harry or I to change, body parts and such.

 

When we adjourn to the sitting room, Harry tells me the story again over sandwiches and pumpkin juice. Apparently, Arabella Figg had a hand in the whole thing, as if she was trying to make up for not taking Harry away from the Dursleys when he was a child. I never thought of it that way, but it must have been very hard for her to leave him there all those years, knowing how they treated him. We spend the night curled around the newest member of our family, neither of us sleeping very much, because we both keep waking up to check on her.

 

***

 

I can feel someone staring at me and it isn't Pig. My groggy brain sorts through the memories from last night and pulls me out of sleep. I open my eyes to see Denise, inches from my face, staring hard at me.

 

"Good morning, pet." The joy that is a howler is nothing compared to the sound that issues from that delicate, rose-red set of cupid's bow lips, as the very first thing my new daughter says to me is a blood-curling scream. A literal wall of ice shoots up between us as she runs from the bedroom.

 

I hop from the bed, find my wand and vanish the ice before it wets the bed. It's lucky I didn't wet the bed from the shock of that banshee-like scream. I go out to the sitting room and find Denise clinging desperately to Harry.

 

"Ron," Harry asks gently, "what did you do to scare her?"

 

"I said 'good morning'," I answer.

 

"Apparently she hates that."

 

"My mistake."

 

Harry coaxes her over to me and tries to explain that I am not some kind of red, spotted monster (his words, not hers), but she is not having any of it. When she reacts to me offering her my hand to shake by covering it with huge boils and running away screaming (of course), I give up and go take a shower.

 

***

 

By the time I'm dresses, Harry and Denise are too, so we go to breakfast. Denny, as Harry insists on calling her, is agog at the sights and sounds of the castle. She is also fearless. The paintings are there to be poked at, the suits of armor make a lovely clanging din, when banged upon and the ghosts are there solely for Denny's amusement. Not one thing worries her, unless I get too close and then it's all screeches and rampaging water buffalos. The latter happened just outside the Great Hall, while much of the school was listening to Harry and I tame wild beasts over their toast and tea. Just as we subdue the last one, Professor McGonagall emerges to see what the commotion is.

 

"Mr. Weasley, What is that beast doing in my school?" Minerva demands.

 

"I . . . er, just a bit of accidental magic, little Denny got spooked is all," I reply.

 

"And who, pray tell, is Little Denny?"

 

"That would be our daughter," Harry pipes up, gliding across the corridor and presenting our deceptively angelic, little girl to the Headmistress.

 

"Daughter? Oh my, isn't she lovely?" Denny reaches out to her, asking to be held. "Such a sweet little thing she is too." I can't believe this child loves everyone and everything in the castle save me. McGonagall takes her and carries her into breakfast.

 

Harry looks at me and says, "Don't worry, Ron. It won't last. She's just been through a lot of changes in the last few weeks. She'll warm up to you; I know I did, eventually." He vanishes the last of the buffalos and goes into the Great Hall.

 

I stand in the corridor, remembering how to breathe for a few minutes. Somehow, in the space of a night, I have gone from desperately lonely to blissfully happy at both Harry's return and Denny's arrival to overwrought and depressed at my daughter's instant dislike of me. Wait a minute. Nobody dislikes me on sight. Well, Malfoy did, and the Dursleys, but neither of them count as they were determined to hate me due to accidents of my birth. Everyone else gives me a chance, at a minimum. I can make this girl like me; I am the funny one, after all.

 

My renewed outlook lasts almost halfway through the meal, until I glance at my dear daughter, sitting nearly engulfed in Hagrid's lap, pulling on his beard, and she actually draws down a lightning flash. It strikes the table in front of me, setting my napkin alight. Harry calmly douses the flames as Minerva stands and reassures the students that the sky is not falling.

 

I take another deep breath and fish a Chocolate Frog from my pocket. When in doubt, have chocolate, that's my credo. I rip open the package and it leaps out, landing on Denny's lap. She grabs it before it gets away and giggles uncontrollably. It squirms and melts in her hands and she bestows on me a smile most unequalled. She looks down at her prize and sees that it has stopped moving.

 

Before her little pout has fully formed, I tell her, "It's okay, it's just chocolate. Have a bite, they're really good." She looks at the sweet, oozing through her fingers, considers it for a moment, slowly raises it to her mouth and bites it's mushy, brown head off. Did I say the first smile was unequalled? I was wrong, this one is not just its equal, it surpasses it. Five minutes later, she crawls stickily into my lap, as I pull another Chocolate Frog out and we are now fast friends.

 

We spend the morning walking behind Denny as she explores the grounds. With October coming to a close, the air is brisk and flavored with fallen leaves and damp earth. I can't help thinking how this autumnal smell, along with the taste of half melted Chocolate Frogs will come to represent this day in my memory, just as the mingled smells of Pumpkin Pasties and tea return me to the day Harry first kissed me or fresh-cut pine and eggnog bring back that content-excited feeling of our wedding day. I'll never need a Pensive, just a smelloscope.

 

We are resting beside the lake, watching the Giant Squid make ripples and waves on the surface, and considering going in for lunch, when lunch appears, like magic, borne by our two favorite House Elves. Dobby and Winky scurry up to us, their arms laden with baskets and thermoses.

 

"Harry Potter and Mister Weezy, Sirs, it is Dobby and Dobby's good wife Winky, sirs. We is come to bring a meal for Harry Potter and Mister Weezy, Sirs, and the new Miss, too."

 

"Hello Dobby, Winky, how are you?" Harry asks. Winky starts setting out a blanket and unloading the food.

 

"Oh, Harry Potter, Sir, it is noble and kind of sir to ask. Dobby is well, Sir, and Dobby's good wife Winky is well as well," Dobby replies.

 

"Thank you for bringing us lunch," Harry says.

 

"Yeah, you should join us," I add.

 

"Oh no, Sirs, Winky and Winky's good husband Dobby could not, Sirs, not on such a day as this. 'Tis not our place, Sirs," Winky answers before Dobby can say yes. She is much saner than she used to be, but still doesn't like the freedom bit.

 

Just then, Denny's curiosity about the House Elves takes a strange turn and she grabs hold of Winky's rather large, round, red nose and tweaks it hard. Winky screams in pain. Harry, who is nearer, pulls her off.

 

"Sorry about that, Winky. Are you all right?"

 

"Sir is too kind, worrying about Winky, Harry Potter is. Winky is all right, Sir, thanking you, Harry Potter, Sir." Her voice comes out nasally. "Winky and Winky's good husband Dobby have much works in the castle, Sir, and must return now, Harry Potter, Sir."

 

Then they both disappear with a loud crack, which makes Denny cry. Once the baby is soothed with tickles and kisses and another Chocolate Frog, she falls, quite suddenly, to sleep, while leaning against me. We pack up the remains of the meal, I wrap Denny in the blanket, and we go back to the castle.

 

Harry returns the dishes and baskets to the kitchen, while I settle our baby on the couch in our rooms for her nap. By the time Harry returns, Denny is well settled. I find myself staring at this little . . . person, a person who has just become dependant on me, well, on Harry and me. Me, a father, who'd have imagined that? Harry comes in, but I can't take my eyes off of her.

 

"All right, Ron?"

 

"Yeah, Harry."

 

"Are you sure? I mean, I didn't give you any warning she was coming, let alone ask you if you wanted to take this on." I look at him with what I know is a wistful smile and he relaxes.

 

"Harry, don't be a dolt; you couldn't have left her there. What were you to do? Let them put her in a Muggle orphanage?" He frowns at my reference to Riddle. "And, she's family." I feel myself smile over-wide. "She's family, enough said."

 

"I'm glad you understand it, Ron, why I did things the way I did."

 

"Oh no, I don't understand why you did things the way you did, just why you did them. Honestly, did the whole of Surry run low on Floo Powder? Did the owls all come down with Spattergroit?"

 

"Er . . . I,"

 

"I'm not angry, Harry," I reassure him, pulling him into the bedroom so we don't disturb Denny, "I just, could have prepared things here, or listened to your concerns and complaints about the Dursleys."

 

"I . . ." he slumps down on the bed. "I reckon I didn't tell you until it was done in case you didn't want her. I didn't want to have you try to talk me out of it."

 

I offer him my hand to shake and say, "Hello, I'm Ron Weasley." He takes my hand and smiles wryly. "Let me tell you a little about myself. I'm a tall, red and very handsome young wizard, who likes Quidditch, Sugar Quills and midnight walks in the snow. My hobbies include chess and Harry Potter trivia. I can't stand spiders, dark lords and anyone named Malfoy, and the two most important things in my life are family and Harry Potter's happiness. Now, do you really think I would have said no to this? Do keep in mind who rescued you from the Dursleys' when you were twelve years old," I tease.

 

"You do know what a turn-on I find your sarcasm, don't you?" he says.

 

"Seriously, Harry, you can't go off making life-changing choices without giving me a heads up. Marriage doesn't work like that. Just remember, if it's that important to you, it's that important to me too. I'd merely like to be included."

 

"Okay."

 

"Okay. So," I incline my head towards the bed, "we haven't," I waggle my eyebrows, "in a week and the baby's asleep. I bet you a Galleon I can strip faster than you," Harry's never been one to refuse a challenge, so the competition is er, stiff. I'm not sure which of us is naked first, but then again, I don't really care.

 

Later as we lay together, bodies cooling in the afternoon sun, I say, "I think we really can do this, Harry. Parenthood, I mean."

 

"And if we have questions, we can always ask at the Burrow." I go cold.

 

"Bloody hell, Mum and Dad! Denny's been here for nearly an entire day and I haven't even sent an owl. Oh, Mum's going to kill me," I whinge.

 

Harry laughs and says, "I sent one yesterday, telling them we have news. We're expected at the Burrow tonight."

 

"There you go again, making the important decisions without me," I mock scold. Harry gets a concerned look on his face.

 

"I am sorry, you know?"

 

"Shh, it's okay, Harry." I gather him to me again. "Just live and learn. We have the rest of our lives to get it right." A wail from the other room has us both up and dressing in seconds. It's amazing how that sound brought us from relaxed and basking to alert and scurrying so fast. I reckon we'd better get used to that.

 

After a snack and a clean nappy, (That was an experience. Harry's had a week more to train than I have, so I'm still a bit useless at it.) we go into Hogsmeade to buy a few baby supplies not available in the Muggle world and some pudding to take with us to the Burrow. We decide on a cake with 'Welcome Baby Denise Potter-Weasley' written on it. The baker's head looks like it will explode when he realizes who we are and just what the cake means. Then there are photos of us and the cake and Denny and the cake and the baker holding Denny in one hand and the cake in the other. We are lucky to get out of there alive.

 

We return to Hogwarts and Floo to the Burrow, Denny strapped to Harry in the Safety-Floo Travel Sling TM. How the merchant can ask twelve Galleons for two yards of cloth with cushioning and anti-squirming charms on it is beyond me. Harry, however, thought it was the best thing since his latest racing broom (The Quantum Phoenix). We arrive to find not just Mum and Dad, but the whole family waiting and looking somber. I wonder what Harry put in that letter?

 

Mum pulls me into a tearful embrace, as I hear Harry landing in the fireplace I just stepped from. "There, there, Ron, it will be all right. All couples have ups and downs. The important thing is that you love each other. You can work everything else out, given time, so I won't hear of a divorce."

 

"Mum, what are you on about?" I ask in surprise.

 

"What your mother is saying, Ron, is that we will be here for you, both of you." Dad looks to Harry half hidden behind me. "We'll help you through this in any way we can." I pull out of Mum's arms.

 

"Wait, what makes you think Harry and I are having marital problems? Divorce? How could you think we were considering something like that?"

 

"It's all right, son, we know about the separation."

 

"The what?" Harry asks.

 

"The trial separation," Mum repeats, handing me a copy of 'Witch Weekly' bearing a photo of Seamus and I at The Three Broomsticks, his arm around my shoulders and us both laughing. The headline reads 'A Hero's Secret Heartbreak- Harry Potter Seeks Divorce from Cheating Hubby'. I blink at it, aghast.

 

"It's rubbish," I blurt out. "I could never cheat on Harry and we are not . . ." I stop because nobody is paying me the faintest bit of attention. They are all staring at Harry, who has just retrieved Denise from inside his cloak.

 

"I don't know what that article says and I don't care. Our news is this; Mum, Dad, the rest of you lot, may I present Denise Potter-Weasley, our new daughter." The room erupts in joyful chaos.

 

Later, after a meal full of Denny stories, and during which, our charming daughter spent time on every knee in the house, Fred and George do a dramatic reading of the 'Witch Weekly" article and Mum's reaction to it. Fred, as always, does a spot-on impression of Mum. Since Mum is currently entranced with her first grandchild, Harry and I get up and serve tea and cake. In the semi-privacy of the kitchen, I feel the need to push Harry up against the wall and press our mouths together vigorously. Reassuring him, without words, that I would never do any of the nasty things the news article said.

 

When we break apart, Harry presses our foreheads together and whispers, "I know, Ron."

 

"Good."

 

***

 

I wake Sunday morning in an entirely different place than a week before. Much like our first night with Denny, we have her snuggled between us in our bed. I'm sure that, at some point, we'll get her her own bed and even her own room, but right now, it feels right to keep her between us, as thought we are protecting her from the world. Harry is still asleep and Denny's head is pillowed on his arm, her blond curls seeming to glow against the black of his T-shirt. Harry's eyes flutter open and we smile foolishly at each other with how very important this type of eventless moment is in the grand scheme of things. We doze.

 

The sound of Harry's laughter mixed with tinkling bells lulls me to wakefulness. "Where is your nose?" Harry asks. That's an odd question.

 

"Noss," the little bell voice responds. Oh, it's Denny.

 

"Where is your mouth?"

 

"Mout," she chirps.

 

"Where are your toes?"

 

"Toss." I open my eyes and watch her little legs swing up in the air and her impossibly slender fingers pinch at her feet, missing and trying again until she catches the requested body parts. Harry is sitting up facing the center of the bed where Denny is laying.

 

"Where is your tummy?"

 

"Tumtum," she laughs.

 

"And where is my tummy?" She sits up and reaches out, touching Harry.

 

"Tumtum."

 

"What about Ron's tummy?" She turns to me and pokes me gently.

 

"Oi pet, what do you think you're doing?" I tease, pulling her over and tickling her. We laze about in bed with tickles and giggles and every silly song I remember from my childhood. Harry doesn't add any silly, Muggle, children's songs and I try not to wonder if he even knows any.

 

When we get up, Harry showers while I dress Denny. Well, I should say attempt to dress Denny. She is apparently very attached to this particular set of pajamas, as they have the image of what some Muggle artist thinks Fairies look like on them.

 

"Come on, Denny, you'll feel much better with a clean nappy, won't you?" I cajole.

 

"No." Her little face is scrunched up determinedly.

 

"We can't go to breakfast with you in your pajamas. Aren't you hungry? Let's get ready for breakfast," I coax.

 

"No."

 

"Denny, little girls who don't get dressed, can't have pudding after lunch," I threaten.

 

"No."

 

I count to ten, take a deep breath and dig through the valise full of her clothes for something with Fairies on it. I have no luck. She is staring at me, waiting for my next move so she can refuse it. I use the only resource I have left.

 

"How about this; I'll give you a lovely Chocolate Frog, if you let me change you?" I bribe. She doesn't answer, just scurries over to grab the sweet from my hand and lays down on the changing mat I had set on the couch at the beginning of all this. I won, I think. Harry emerges from the bedroom clean and dressed. I can tell he just brushed his hair because it is slightly more unruly than usual.

 

"Ron, is she eating chocolate before breakfast?"

 

"Er, yeah," I admit.

 

"Don't you think that's spoiling her a bit?"

 

"It was the only way I could get her to let me change her nappy. Besides, what does it hurt? Look how happy it makes her."

 

"Ron, remember what Dudley looks like?" Oh!

 

"Come on pet. Let's get you a nice, scrummy piece of fruit for breakfast."

 

After breakfast, we go down to the pitch and take turns flying around to amuse Denny and each other. After the little one has fallen asleep on my shoulder, we get to talking. "I'll be glad tomorrow when I get to go back to only teaching flying. Two subjects is just too much work."

 

"Ron, your Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons consist of telling stories of when we used to sneak about the castle after hours. How much work is it to do that?"

 

"Well, one has to choose the appropriate story for each lesson."

 

"Ah, and what does the story of us sneaking out to duel with Malfoy during our first year teach exactly?"

 

"Not to take your opponent at his word. Really, Harry, they're good stories. We did learn a lot of Defense Against the Dark Arts on those nights."

 

"I don't think it's a good idea to allow the students to think we condone sneaking out after hours, do you?"

 

"Harry, it makes you real. To these kids you're the all-powerful Boy-Who-Lived, the man who saved us all from Voldemort more times than they can count. You're mythic, like Merlin or Dumbledore. Don't you think it is better if they see that you were a naughty kid, just like them?" I argue.

 

"Would you like Denny sneaking around like we used to?" he counters.

 

"Frankly? I think Denny would probably be able to take care of herself," I answer, remembering ice and boils and water buffalo, not to mention lightning.

 

"Well, maybe. She can't now, though," he changes the subject, abruptly. "We have to decide what we are going to do with her tomorrow. I was thinking it would be best if we hired on a nanny."

 

"What and leave her with a stranger?"

 

"Okay, not a nanny. How about Arabella Figg? Denny already knows her and I bet she wouldn't mind living in or maybe getting rooms in Hogsmeade. It's not as though there's anything left for her in Little Whinging, now that all her cats have been returned to their human forms."

 

"What about accidental magic? Arabella wouldn't be ably to reverse anything dangerous Denny did. Her magic is unusually strong for such a little thing."

 

"Er, I'm sorry Ron. I seem to have forgot to tell you something rather important about Denny. It struck me as strange that Denny didn't show signs of magic until she and Dud moved into Privet Drive after her Mum left so, between solicitor's meetings, I managed to do some research at Flourish and Blotts."

 

"And?"

 

"And, she's not just unusually strong, I'm fairly certain she's a Magidux, she draws on the ambient magic from a place to cast. That is why her tantrums were not magical when she lived in a Muggle house, but got decidedly magical and more frequent when she moved to where I used to live. She was using the magic from the wards and charms cast on the place to protect me as a boy."

 

"Now she's doing it here too. That's why a child who should only be able to conjure a few sparks can bring lightning," I cotton on.

 

"Exactly. Perhaps we could set up some null zones, where she and Arabella could be, where Denny would have no ambient magic to draw on. We could do our rooms and the little courtyard outside our sitting room. It wouldn't even take very long to set up."

 

"Don't you think that might be a bit like charming the claws off of a cat? As long as you keep it inside, it can't scratch the furniture, but if it ever gets out, it can't defend itself or go mouse hunting. If we keep Denny in a place with no magic, she'll never learn how to use her gift and it will just be harder once she has to try to at school."

 

"I reckon you're right. Anyone else you can think of?"

 

"There's a certain highly experienced witch near Ottery St. Catchpole who's a likely candidate. If she could handle the twins at two years old, she can handle Denny."

 

"Of course, Mum would be ideal. Do you think she would mind Flooing back and forth every day?"

 

"Harry, you saw her last night, Denny is the new center of the universe to Mum."

 

"Great, I'll send her an owl now." He retrieves pig from the cubbyhole, he likes to hide in, next to the fireplace and starts writing.

 

We have a lunch date with Remus, so we pack up a truly unreasonable amount of baby 'essentials' and walk to The Three Broomsticks, Denny clinging drowsily to Harry. We spot him chatting up Madam Rosmerta's new barman. The barman is tall, lean and handsome in an understated way. The glint in Remus' eyes as they are talking gives me pause. I never thought he'd get past losing Sirius. Looks like I was wrong. Bully for him. Harry calls to him and he makes his way over, smiling broadly, a folded copy of The Daily Prophet under his arm.

 

"Harry, Ron, so good to see you. And who is this little one?" he asks, tickling Denny's cheek. She reaches for him, unprompted, and he takes her automatically.

 

"She's our daughter, Denise," Harry says, strangely sounding a bit nervous.

 

"Ah, yes. The pictures don't do her justice."

 

"What pictures?" Harry and I ask in unison. By way of an answer, he hands us The Daily Prophet from under his arm and walks to a table, cooing at his de facto granddaughter. The three of us are smiling out from the front page, Denny's face smudged with whipped cream. It must be one of the pictures from the bakery yesterday. The headline reads, 'Potter-Weasleys Adopt Muggle-born Witch.' That sound quite good to me.


End file.
